


Playing House

by penguingal



Category: White Collar
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-02
Updated: 2010-08-02
Packaged: 2018-06-07 06:47:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,992
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6791854
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/penguingal/pseuds/penguingal





	Playing House

Neal sauntered off the elevators and into the FBI office with his usual sunny smile. He greeted everyone he passed on his way through the door by name, automatically cataloging new little details about them and filing them away for later use. Michaels got a new cat, orange apparently, based on the fine coating of hair on his suit jacket. He'd have to remember to get him a lint roller for his desk.

He looked up to Peter's office, frowning slightly to find it dark and empty. Peter was always in the office before him, except, of course, when Neal didn't want it that way. He looked around for his absent handler, frowning even more when he spotted him in Hughes's office, pacing and rubbing the back of his neck. This was going to be bad. Whether it was bad for him or bad for someone else wasn't clear yet.

"Caffrey!" Hughes said, suddenly appearing in the doorway to his office. "Get in here."

Okay, so, bad for him apparently. Neal ran through the things he'd done in the last couple days, coming up with three or four easy excuses for each of them. By the time he was at Hughes's door, his body language was completely relaxed and easy. Nothing to see here, folks.

"Close the door," Peter said gently and gestured Neal into a chair. "We have a problem. You know about the exhibit of Japanese art scrolls that's opening in the next couple days?"

Neal internally relaxed; this definitely wasn't about him. "Sure. There's some really beautiful, rare pieces there. Why?"

"We got a tip that sometime between the installation of the exhibit and the open, the pieces are going to be replaced with forgeries. And it's going to be an inside job."

Frowning, Neal sat back. "How credible a tip do you think it is?"

Hughes pulled two photographs from the folder on his desk and slid them across to Neal. "Because these guys are the ones who were hired to say that the forgeries are authentic. They're art appraisers from the West Coast, Andrew and Jacob DeMartin. After they were contacted with the proposal, they called us. They'd been in trouble with the law before and didn't want any part of that again, but claimed not to know who it was who hired them. We want you and Peter to go undercover in their place."

Neal looked closely at the photos. "It's pretty unusual for appraisers to work in pairs. Brothers?"

"Not exactly," Hughes said, looking at Peter.

"These two guys are married. To be convincing you and I are going to have to--have to--" Peter waved a hand ineffectively between them.

"Play house?" Neal asked, his grin growing. He had to resist looking Peter's body up and down and licking his chops as Peter almost imperceptibly squirmed under his gaze. Flirtation came second-nature to Neal, but in the last few months instead of brushing it off with a joke, Peter had started flirting back. Just a little bit, but definitely there. "It'll be a stretch, but I think I can handle that. You okay with that, Peter?"

"Do I have a choice?" Peter asked, turning slightly to Hughes.

"In a word, no. The museum has you up in a room and there's a reception at the gallery tonight with the art on display. Jones has the rest of the details." Hughes stood. "Good luck. Now get the hell out of my office."

Peter and Neal exited the office together, nearly shoulder to shoulder. Neal draped an arm across Peter's, shaking him slightly. "Come on, Peter. Loosen up. This... this is going to be fun."

All he got in reply was an arched eyebrow and a slightly disbelieving smirk.

....

The hotel suite was luxurious, even by Neal's standards, and a large plush bed dominated it. He looked around, opening the French doors onto the terrace and plopping a grape from the complimentary fruit basket into his mouth as Peter tipped the bellhop.

"Thank you, Mr. DeMartin. If there's anything else you require, please let us know," the bellhop said.

"Could you make sure room service sends up an extra large carafe of coffee tomorrow morning?" Neal jumped in. "My husband is going to need a large jolt first thing." He wrapped an arm around Peter's shoulders and then slid it down so his hand was resting on his hip.

Unfazed, the bellhop simply nodded and offered a blase "Certainly, sir" as he exited.

After he was gone, Peter turned his head and glared at Neal.

"What?"

Peter held up a hand that quickly silenced him and then extracted himself from Neal's embrace. He opened up the large armoire, revealing a full stereo set and a top of the line entertainment unit. Neal wondered idly if he was going to have to suffer through a basketball game right now to make up for Peter having to go undercover at an art reception. But Peter merely turned the stereo on to a non-descript pop music station. That done, he visibly relaxed.

"Okay, it should be relatively safe to talk until I can sweep the room for bugs," Peter said, turning to Neal. "And by the way, that whole thing before with the bellhop? Not funny."

"Oh come on, Peter. It's exactly the kind of thing he'd expect from a married couple," Neal said dismissively. "Don't tell me getting a little touchy-feely is going to make you uncomfortable."

"It's not what you're doing, it's the manic glee with which you're doing it," Peter commented. He pulled a small device from his pocket and started sweeping the room, looking for electronic feedback from any hidden listening devices. "Looks like the room is clean. The reception is in an hour. We should dress."

"Yes, dear," Neal murmured. He unbuttoned his jacket and slipped it off, tossing it on the bed before going to work on the buttons to his shirt cuffs. He could feel Peter's eyes on him the whole way to the bathroom.

....

Peter tugged at his shirtsleeves and checked out his reflection. The tux he'd borrowed actually looked pretty decent if he did say so himself. He turned and adjusted his cuffs. Behind him, the bathroom door opened and Neal emerged, dressed in an immaculate vintage tuxedo that he looked like he was born to wear. His hair, despite the fact that steam still poured from the bathroom, was dry and perfectly coiffed as always.

Neal caught him staring and flashed one of his patented Caffrey smiles. "Like it?" he asked, modeling for Peter quickly.

"It's a good thing I'm supposed to be your husband," Peter commented, returning to his own reflection. "Otherwise that suit'd be getting you into a lot of trouble tonight."

Smiling, Neal walked over and gently turned Peter, helping him fix his tie and smooth his lapels. The tuxedo suited Peter, even though Neal's eye could pick out the places where it only _mostly_ fit. "Gonna keep me on a tight leash?" Neal asked as he made a final adjustment to the bowtie.

"The tightest."

"Kinky." Neal stepped back and looked Peter over once more. "I like it."

Peter rolled his eyes and checked his reflection once more. He slipped his hand into a pocket and pulled out a ring box. "Give me your hand."

"Why, Peter... I'm touched," Neal teased as he held out his hand for Peter to slip the ring on his finger. "I didn't get anything for you."

"I have one already," Peter said, holding up his left hand. "This one matches and has the benefit of having a tiny little GPS tracker inside. So, don't run. I don't want to have to track my wayward husband down."

Neal spared a moment to actually look a little affronted, and then grinned sunnily as he gazed at the ring on his finger. "And pass up the chance to make you squirm? Never."

Without warning, Neal leaned in and pressed a soft, barely there kiss to his lips. It lasted less than an instant, but Peter felt it all the way down to his toes. And he'd bet anything that Neal, the bastard, knew it, too.

"Come on, Andrew," Neal said from the doorway, "time to go to work."

....

The reception was invite only, but still the gallery was full of at least 200 people in their finest gowns and tuxedos. Lining each wall, the scrolls were installed under glass, soft light diffused through the room, giving everything a muted, other worldly feel. Servers in crisp white uniforms circulated easily around the clusters of people with appetizers and glasses of champagne, and inwardly, Peter sighed. This was so very much not a room he belonged in. Neal, of course, looked like he was right in his element.

Neal slipped an arm under Peter's tux jacket. "Relax, buddy. You tense those shoulders any more and that jacket is going to split."

"You know how I feel about parties like this," Peter muttered.

"It's okay. Just follow my lead and remember that you're smarter than everyone in the room. Except me."

Peter huffed a laugh and reached up to squeeze the back of Neal's neck. "I'm still keeping you on a tight leash."

"Oh aren't you two sweet?" a woman cooed, turning Peter's blood cold. She held out her hand. "I'm Marion Coatesworth-Hayes, and you must be the DeMartins. Taylor told me he'd hired you to keep watch over the scrolls for us. I'm pleased to meet you."

Neal extended his hand smoothly, smiling his most endearing smile. "I'm Jacob and this is my husband, Andrew. Taylor speaks very highly of you, says you keep a tight reign on the museum's board."

"Oh, well, aren't you a talented liar?" Marion said. "Taylor's never said a kind word about me in his life, but you're sweet to try to cover for him." She took Neal's arm and started to lead him over to where the scrolls were housed, Peter following in their wake.

"And as for the board, well, they know that without me, a relatively small art history society like ours would never be able to sponsor a showing like this. Now, I understand you boys just flew in tonight and haven't had a chance to look at the scrolls, yet." She stopped in front of the first case. "Here they are. You'll get a chance to get your hands on all of them tomorrow morning to authenticate them, but for now, I hope you'll just admire them."

Neal bent over the case, and Peter could see his eyes tracing over every salient detail before he smiled and looked back up at Marion. "They are exquisite. Do you think Andrew and I might have a moment alone to admire them? We generally work without an audience," he said, his tone apologetic.

"Of course! Please do!" She smiled broadly at them both and then hurried away, swept back into the crowd of her peers.

Peter leaned over the case next to Neal, pretending to examine the documents himself. "So, what do you think?"

"It'd be easier if I could get my fingers on them, but yeah, as far as I can tell from under glass, these are the real thing. The exhibit is set to open to the public in three days, which means if they're going to switch the pieces out, it's going to happen soon."

Peter glanced around, leading Neal to the next display case. "If the DeMartins are supposed to say that the scrolls are authentic to cover up the switch, then we know they have to do it quietly. You think this Taylor is the guy that hired us?"

Neal shrugged. "That's one theory."

"You've got another one?"

"Marion Coatesworth-Hayes."

Peter glanced over his shoulder. "The busy-body? Why?"

"Because, her board members hate her, so does the museum staff, including Taylor, who I'm betting is the museum's docent. If she steals the scrolls, she can not only profit from the sale of priceless art, she can take down the whole organization by revealing they've been displaying forgeries." Neal carefully watched Marion over Peter's shoulder. She seemed not to be paying any particular attention to them.

"They're both good theories. We just need proof." Peter turned thoughtfully back to the display cases. "Where would they take these so we could examine them?"

"Probably a clean room in the basement somewhere." Realization dawned on Neal's face. "That's where they'll make the switch. In transportation. If they're following insurance protocols, we'd have to examine the pieces twice. Once to ensure they are what they say they are and again to ensure what we examined is what is actually installed in the exhibit."

"Which means the forgeries are already in the building," Peter said. "We've got to get down to that basement."

Neal shook his head. "We disappear from here, and the people who hired us are going to know something is up. We'll have to wait until tomorrow." Peter sighed and rolled his shoulders, inviting Neal to wrap an arm around them again. "I'm sorry, Andrew. We have to mingle."

Peter shot him a dirty look but allowed himself to be pulled into the crowd. "Hey, how did you know she was on the board, anyway? We didn't get a chance to do backgrounds on anyone."

"Because I swear every art history society, everywhere has someone on the board exactly like her," Neal answered, snagging a glass of champagne for each of them.

"So you guessed."

"It was an educated guess at least," Neal admitted.

Peter made a non-committal sound, half amused and half amazed at just how good Neal was at the con. Choosing to stay mostly in the background while Neal effortlessly made his way around the room gave Peter the opportunity to study the lines of Neal's face and body and pick up on the things that were part of the character Neal was playing and those tiny things he was fairly sure were genuinely Neal. Peter didn't fool himself into thinking that he'd ever seen the real Neal, not even once.

Occasionally, Neal would toss a smile at him or snake an arm around his waist as he conversed, and Peter easily played the part of the slightly aloof, mostly goofy husband. He'd gotten used to it being married to someone as beautiful and dynamic as El. Every time Neal touched him, though, a traitorous shiver ran down his spine and directly into his groin. Peter did his best to ignore the reaction Neal's proximity caused, but in the end he was glad that his tuxedo pants were just ill-fitting enough to conceal his erection.

Finally, as the reception started winding down, Neal circled over to him and pressed a kiss to his cheek. "Ready to go back to the hotel, partner?"

Peter nodded, waiting as Neal made their excuses and then led him out of the large ballroom. "I still say you're having too much fun with this," he quipped as they left, gratified to get Neal's rich laugh in return.

....

Peter called in to the office as soon as they returned to their room, ignoring Neal as he moved around, seemingly without purpose. When he was done updating Hughes on their progress, he closed his eyes briefly and pinched the bridge of his nose. Neal no longer seemed to be wandering, so Peter stood and looked around. His breath caught when he found Neal shirtless and in nothing but his boxers, reclining on the bed with a book.

"What are you doing?" Peter managed to gasp out.

Neal glanced around the room as if checking to make sure Peter was talking to him before replying, "Reading, getting ready for bed. What does it look like?"

Peter ran a hand over his hair, his faded erection throbbing to life once again as he stared helplessly at the toned, muscular body. "Right, good," Peter said when he finally found his voice again. "I'll just get comfy on the couch, then."

"Peter, don't be ridiculous," Neal said, putting the book aside. "We're adults. We can share a bed without it having to be a thing."

"No, I don't think that'd be a good idea," Peter said, even as he came closer to the bed, drawn there by some unseen force.

Neal looked him over, noting the slight flush above Peter's collar and the just barely visible bulge in his loose pants. He rolled to his knees on the mattress, showing Peter he was in a similar state. "Maybe you'd prefer if it was a thing, then?" he purred, crawling closer to Peter.

Peter's mouth went dry and he didn't resist when Neal placed his hands on his hips and pulled him forward into a kiss. It took a moment for Peter's shocked mind to catch up to what was happening and pull back, even though his hands itched to touch Neal's skin.

"No, we can't," Peter murmured.

"Is it because of El?" Neal asked, not taking his hands off Peter.

Giving in to the urge to touch, Peter cupped Neal's face in one hand. "No, actually. She was pissed when I first told her about how I was feeling, and betrayed, which she had every right to be. But something changed. Maybe she just has a soft spot for you, I don't know. She said if it was anyone but you, she'd divorce me without hesitation."

"Then what is it?"

"We're working! And you're distracting enough when you aren't half-naked." Peter realized half a second later what he'd said when Neal's grin grew even wider. He held up a hand. "Don't. Don't say it."

Neal held his tongue but stored away the fact that Peter thought he was distracting for later use. "We're off the clock right now. Nothing is going to change tonight. Come to bed with me."

"I need to stay focused," Peter protested. "After we wrap this up... nothing is going to stop me. Understand?"

"Okay," Neal breathed. He leaned his head on Peter's chest for a moment, just listening to his heartbeat. "Can you at least sleep in the bed with me tonight? You'll sleep better anyway and this bed is huge. We can certainly arrange ourselves with some kind of decorum."

Peter wavered and finally crumbled, nodding. He stepped away and started stripping his tuxedo, trying not to blush as he felt Neal's eyes watching his every movement. Unlike Neal, he kept his undershirt on as he slipped under the covers. There was no way Peter was going to be able to resist the feeling of Neal's body heat against his skin if he stripped all the way to his boxers. He felt a tentative hand on his shoulder.

"Good night, Peter," Neal said, before turning out the light.

....

Peter awoke to the smell of good, strong coffee and opened one eye slowly. Neal had pulled a robe on and was pouring a cup from the carafe on the room service tray, and Peter realized he'd never even heard the door. So much for the vigilant FBI agent.

"Morning, honey," Neal greeted.

"Don't call me that," Peter automatically groused. He leveraged himself up and out of bed, circling to the tray and taking a long sip of the hot coffee.

Neal smirked. "Better?"

Peter grunted, took another sip and slipped into the bathroom. By the time he emerged, he was at least feeling verbal again. "We've only got a couple hours before the DeMartins are expected at the gallery."

"Think our mastermind is going to show?"

"It only makes sense. We need to get these guys in the act of switching out the scrolls. I need to coordinate with Jones, get a team in play." Peter shoved some toast into his mouth and Neal could see his brain working to find all the angles.

Neal circled behind Peter and put his hands on Peter's shoulders, massaging them lightly and then more boldly when Peter actually relaxed into the touch. "We're going to get these guys," he murmured. "I have confidence in you."

Peter took a deep breath but then gently shrugged Neal's hands off. "Okay, okay, enough. Just... sit there and eat your breakfast and let me focus." He picked up his phone and speed-dialed Jones's number. While it was ringing, he caught Neal's eyes. "And thanks."

"Sure thing... honey."

Peter rolled his eyes with a smirk, but focused on telling Jones exactly what he needed.

....

By the time they rolled up in front of the museum, the FBI machine was already effectively purring. As Peter stepped out of the car, he clocked the two teams outside the museum and the surveillance van around the corner. There was another team covering the back entrances as well. He and Neal would be the men on the inside. Peter pulled Neal to a halt before they took the steps into the museum. "Listen, don't do anything stupid in there, okay? All we need is to see where they're keeping the forgeries hidden, then we'll call in the cavalry."

"Nothing stupid, I promise," Neal said. "I'm far too interested in seeing this case get wrapped up quickly," he whispered, dropping Peter a wink before heading for the steps once again.

A familiar feeling of dread settling in Peter's stomach, he followed, glancing once over his shoulder at the otherwise non-descript van up the street.

....

The gallery where the scrolls had been displayed the previous night was in full light now, the glass cases standing open and empty. Crews were diligently cleaning each case as well as the floor while museum employees stood in the center with a diagram, apparently deciding which scroll would be displayed where.

Their escort smoothly led them past this gallery and to an elevator tucked discreetly in the back corner. It only had two buttons on its brushed brass panel, 1 and B. The ride down felt like it took longer than it strictly should have. The doors opened to a dim corridor that branched off to the right. The temperature was on the cold side of chilly and Peter could hear the compressors circulating the air. Peter and Neal followed the corridor to the end where soft lights diffused through the clean area. There was already a group of men standing around a layout table and Neal exchanged a look with Peter as he grabbed a pair of soft cotton gloves.

"At last, you must be the DeMartins," one of the men said, stepping forward and extending his hand. "I'm Taylor Richmond, the museum's docent. We're thrilled you were able to work this into your schedule. Please." He gestured to the table and stood back, allowing Neal and Peter to step close to the scrolls.

Neal bent over to look at them and Peter followed suit, pretending to look over his shoulder but really keeping an eye on the bodies around the room. Two of the men were doing their best to hide it, but they were definitely carrying guns. Peter did not like those odds.

"These are very interesting pieces," Neal mused. He straightened and looked Taylor directly in the eyes. "Almost as good as the originals."

Peter looked at Neal and then over at Taylor, gauging his reaction.

"Very good Mr. DeMartin," Taylor said. "I knew you were the right men for this job when I hired you. Watch the door." One of the guys carrying guns moved to the entrance, keeping his eye on the corridor and blocking the only way in or out of the room.

"Glad to finally put a face to the money," Neal quipped. "So, where'd you stash the originals?"

"Some place safe."

"I don't suppose you could let us get our hands on the real thing?" Neal asked, leaning in and giving Taylor his most gracious smile. "It was nice seeing them under glass but part of the thrill for guys like us is getting to actually handle the pieces. Come on..." he wheedled when Taylor hesitated, "you've still got half our money, what harm could us seeing the original pieces do?"

Peter tried not to glare at Neal. They had no information on what the DeMartins' deal was, and no way of knowing what they'd already been paid. It was another educated guess, but a risk nonetheless. A risk Peter would have preferred Neal didn't take.

Taylor carefully considered Neal, his eyes flicking occasionally to Peter, but then he shrugged and nodded at one of his men. "They're just going to be moved again after you see them anyway. Go on, get your kicks."

Peter watched as a hard plastic tube was pulled from a hidden compartment. Anyone but Taylor would have had to work for weeks to get that compartment installed without anyone noticing. It was good work, nearly invisible, and no one would have questioned the docent if he said they needed to make modifications to the clean room.

The fakes were carefully moved aside and the originals pulled out for display. Neal eagerly bent over them, running his gloved fingers reverently over the ink. He dropped Peter a subtle wink.

"Wow," Peter breathed. "These are really beautiful. I bet the sale of these on the black market could buy you quite the estate in Mexico."

Immediately, the sound of doors slamming open reached them and shouts flooded the corridor. Peter could see a SWAT team led by Jones heading toward them from the open elevator doors.

"FBI!" Peter shouted, drawing his own concealed weapon and training it on the closest armed guy while Jones's voice shouted at the other one to put his gun down. Neal, thank god, moved subtly behind him and out of the line of fire. He could hear another team taking up position on the other side of the wall where Jones indicated there was another corridor and an entrance to the back alley. "You're surrounded, Taylor. I'd suggest your guy put his gun down nice and slow and then no one gets hurt."

Taylor put his hands up and Peter watched out of the corner of his eye as the guy at the door lifted his arms and was disarmed and cuffed. Finally, the SWAT team swarmed the room and cuffed the rest of Taylor's crew. Only then did Peter breathe and relax his stance.

"So, do I get to know who arrested me?" Taylor asked.

"Agent Peter Burke," Peter said. "I'd say that next time you shouldn't hire people without finding out what they look like first, but you're going to be in jail for a pretty long time after this stunt."

"And what if I gave you the person who _really_ set this whole thing up?"

Peter held up his hand to keep the agent from dragging Taylor away. "I'm listening."

....

The outside of the Coatesworth-Hayes residence was as ostentatious as Peter expected, and when he glanced at Neal, Peter could see his thoughts mirrored on Neal's face. The place was gaudy to the point of revulsion. For all of Marion Coatesworth-Hayes's attempts at refinement, she was clearly a bored woman who didn't know what to do with the resources she had at her disposal. The inside of the house was as bad, if not worse, than the outside. The look of horror on Neal's face as he took in the haphazard collections of art nearly buried under the truly impressive array of tacky knick-knacks was priceless.

The woman herself swept down the stairs as regally as if she were greeting honored guests and not a squad of armed FBI agents. "Andrew, Jacob... what's going on here? Has something happened at the museum?" Marion asked.

"Actually Mrs. Coatesworth-Hayes, my name is Peter Burke, and I'm with the FBI. And you are under arrest."

"Under arrest? Why that's ridiculous. What could you possibly be arresting me for?"

 _Bad taste,_ Peter thought. "Taylor Richmond gave you up the moment we put cuffs on him. I guess a couple million dollars isn't enough to buy silence or loyalty any more."

"What _is_ this world coming to?" Neal asked with a cheeky grin.

If Peter had expected the bluster to go out of Marion then, he couldn't have been more wrong. She protested that Taylor was lying, setting her up, that he had been the one to come up with the idea right up until the moment the squad car door closed on her to take her away.

Peter stood there shaking his head as the cars slowly dispersed. "Good work, Jones," Peter complimented the agent as he went past.

"Thanks, boss. You coming back to the office?" Jones asked.

Neal came to stand next to Peter, just inside his peripheral vision. "We still have to go back to the hotel and get our things. I think after that it's going to be a much deserved beer and quiet dinner at home. I'll see you at the office tomorrow."

"Have a good night, then," Jones said, waving at the two men.

"So," Neal said. "Back to the hotel, then?"

"Yep."

"How fast can we get there?"

Peter turned his head to look at Neal. "We're in the Taurus. Pretty damn fast."

"Then what are we waiting for?"

....

Neal and Peter crashed through the door to their hotel room, unable to keep their hands off each other for a moment longer. It was actually something of a miracle that they'd gotten the door open at all. Neal's nimble fingers worked at Peter's tie and the buttons on his shirt as they crossed the room.

"You have to fuck me, Peter," Neal whispered. He pulled Peter's tie off and tossed it aside, followed quickly by pushing his shirt off his shoulders. Peter's hands got a little tangled in the cuffs of his shirt, but he yanked them free, anxious to get his hands back on Neal's body. "I need you. Peter..."

"Shh, partner. You'll get everything you need. I promise." Peter stripped Neal's shirt more carefully, mindful of the vintage clothing that Neal valued so highly. Neal's skin was positively magnetic and this time Peter didn't hold back, giving in to the desire to touch all over. His fingertips grazed Neal's collarbone before dragging down to Neal's nipples, making him gasp. Peter filed that information away for later as he worked to open Neal's belt.

Neal moaned, unconcerned about how wanton he looked or sounded. Peter was touching him, finally actually real under his hands, and it was far better than anything even his fertile imagination could have conjured up. Naked at last, he let Peter push him to the bed's surface and crawl over him. He tugged on Peter's belt. "You're not naked yet."

"That's astute, Neal. They always said you were one of the smart ones," Peter murmured, leaning down to kiss him deeply.

"Seriously? You're going to tease me now? Now, when I'm naked and hard because you're straddling me and kissing me?"

Peter smirked. "I like watching you squirm."

Rolling his eyes, Neal took command of the situation, pulling at Peter's belt and finally opening his fly. He'd always figured Peter would be well-endowed, his artist's eye picking up the subtle clues based on what he could tell through layers of clothing. Peter, typically, did not disappoint. Neal stroked Peter's length, eager to have it inside him, stretching him, and pressing deliciously against his prostate. He moaned again at the thought.

"Fuck," Peter grunted, eyes closing with the force of the sensations Neal's hand was sending through his body. He pulled away long enough to scramble off the bed and shed his remaining clothing. "You brought...?" he asked Neal.

"There's lube in the small zipper pouch. Condoms, too... I--I'm clean, though. If you were worried about that. I mean, I know you're clean only having been with Elizabeth in the last 10 years and in prison I managed to avoid... I got tested anyway. After I got out. Just to be sure."

A little of the urgency bled out of Peter then, hearing Neal sound so genuinely vulnerable. It hadn't occurred to him, but this was probably the first time anyone had touched him with any real tenderness or affection since before he went to prison. While Kate was out there, alive, there was no way Neal would ever betray her, as much as he was a hopeless flirt. Now that she was long dead...

Peter pulled out the lube but left the condoms where they were. "I trust you, Neal," he murmured, returning to his position over Neal on the bed and pushing his hair out of his face. He gentled his touch, stroking and caressing now instead of grabbing and pulling. Neal arched into each touch.

"Peter," Neal gasped. "God it's been so long--I, fuck, I'm not gonna... please. I want you inside me before I come."

The sound of Neal, so articulate and glib normally, reduced to half-coherent sentences went straight to Peter's cock. "Roll over," he grunted, moving back a little so Neal could comply. He slicked his fingers and slipped two gently into Neal, feeling him relax into the intrusion.

"Not the first time you've done this, then?" Peter commented.

Neal moaned and rubbed his leg against Peter. "First time I've ever enjoyed it this much," he murmured. "Oh, god... you feel good."

Peter just smiled, kissing his way across Neal's shoulders as he finally finished preparing him. He bit his lip against his moan as he pushed deep inside Neal, panting against his skin once he was fully seated. He slid his hands down Neal's arms, pinning them out to the side and winding their fingers together as he started to move.

"Yes...," Neal hissed. "Just like that. Hold me down. Fuck me."

Filing that away for later as well, Peter abandoned himself to the need coursing through him. He pulled back and slammed into Neal hard over and over, the encouraging moan from beneath him spurring him on. Neal was so perfect, so hard and hot under him, panting and sweating and grunting as he tried to rub himself off on the sheets that Peter's orgasm was far closer much sooner than he expected. He pulled Neal to his knees, stroking him hard and fast.

Neal moaned and writhed under Peter, close to delirious with pleasure even before Peter pulled him to his knees. He was too far gone for anything like control, crying out and coming only a few fast strokes later.

"Neal!" Peter shouted. He bit down on Neal's shoulder as he came, claiming and marking him in one fell swoop.

Their harsh breathing was the only sound in the room as they slowly came down. Neal lowered them to the bed, not wanting to dislodge Peter if he didn't have to. The bite on his shoulder throbbed perfectly and he sighed in contentment. "I needed that."

"So did I," Peter murmured, stroking a gentle hand over Neal's back, prodding at the bite mark he'd left behind. "Shame this is going to fade in a couple days."

"You'll just have to put it back when it does."

Peter finally rolled off Neal and curled up next to him, one arm draped over his waist. "Maybe I'll have to get some restraints or something for you, too if that's how you respond to being held down."

"You mean something like these?" Neal asked, pulling a set of padded leather cuffs from under the pillow. He shrugged at the look of surprise on Peter's face. "Just in case we got that far while we were here."

Peter took them out of Neal's fingers, caressing the wide, soft leather. "You really are full of surprises. Think there's any hope of confining them to the bedroom?"

Neal turned his head to look at Peter, a slow smile creeping across his face. "I wouldn't count on it."

Laughing, Peter pressed a kiss to Neal's upturned mouth. "Well. It was worth a try."


End file.
